


Let Your Tongue Speak (What Your Heart Thinks)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, Loss, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Slip of Tongue, Surrogate Fathers, Thanksgiving, Trust, fathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nik discovers the true meaning of Thanksgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Tongue Speak (What Your Heart Thinks)

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, Nik mentioned in an article that he thought of Steve as a father figure, so this story, written per reader request, is based on that premise. It also is meant as a Happy Thanksgiving wish to everyone, although if my readers are anything like me, they are probably reaching the point where they don't want to see another slice of turkey for a whole year...

“Let your tongue speak what your heart thinks.”—Davy Crockett

Let Your Tongue Speak (What Your Heart Thinks) 

“So, what do you think of Thanksgiving, Nik?” asked Steve, his fingers carding through Nik’s hair as Nik knelt before him in the living room after all the other guests had departed in duos and trios. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Nik shrugged. All the warmth and companionship, which had been as tangible as the massive mahogany table they had feasted around, had made him feel safe and snug from head to toe just like he did when he lounged by a fire on a cold winter night and stared at the shapes flickering in the flames. At the same time, everyone talking on top of one another and so loudly had been overwhelming, as had been the sheer amounts of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and other dishes he had never seen or tasted before. Everything served at Thanksgiving was so foreign to him that it felt like an assault on his tongue, but at the same time it felt good to taste things he never would have tried back in Sweden. 

“At least you tried the turkey.” Steve ruffled Nik’s hair. “Turkey is the most important part of Thanksgiving.” 

“I’ve got to say turkey is a bit of a letdown if that’s true.” Nik wrinkled his nose. “It’s a very dry meat, isn’t it?” 

“Not if you drench it in gravy.” Chuckling, Steve tapped Nik’s nose. “If I remember correctly, I did tell you to do that, but you, being a typical rebellious rookie, wouldn’t take my veteran advice and had to learn the hard way.” 

“I can’t eat gravy.” Nik shook his head. He had strict dietary rules that he followed that included not consuming anything that appeared to be almost entirely comprised of liquified fat, not only because, as a professional athlete he had to watch his nutrition, but also because he didn’t want to end up like Papa: confined to a rotting coffin before he had even passed through middle age courtesy of a heart attack that might have been avoided with a healthier food and exercise regimen. “It’s almost all fat. If I have it once, I could die of a heart attack.” 

“You won’t die of a heart attack if you eat gravy once.” With a snort, Steve clapped Nik’s shoulder. “If you do, then sue me.” 

“I couldn’t sue you,” Nik pointed out wryly. “I’d be dead, Pappa.” 

He didn’t know what made him say that final word. Maybe it was just the memory of Pappa aching to be spoken rather than just locked in his mind and heart, or perhaps it was the closeness and trust between him and Steve when he knelt like this. Of course, he did regard Steve as a sort of father figure—losing his father at eleven had left him with a void inside that he filled with people, usually coaches or older teammates, who reminded him of Pappa, and whom he could even think of as Papa if that emptiness inside of him that came from having no father grew big enough to threaten to swallow him—but before now he had always been able to keep his tongue from tripping up and speaking what was in his heart. 

“Come back and haunt me as a ghost then.” Steve squeezed Nik’s shoulder and then murmured, “Why did you call me ‘Pappa,’ Nik?” 

“Slip of the tongue.” Worried that Steve would think he was crazy—and afraid that maybe he was even though everybody in the world was probably neurotic in their own way and at least his neuroses were relatively harmless—Nik bit his lip. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry.” Steve’s squeeze turned into a massage. “It’s not as though you insulted me.” 

“I’d never insult you.” Nik’s eyes widened. Then the same honesty that had coursed through him earlier and made him call Steve ‘Pappa’ ran through him again—because it was impossible to keep secrets or hold anything back when he was so open, so comfortable but also so vulnerable, as he was when he knelt—and he added, “I do think of you like a dad, you know, because mine died when I was eleven, and I guess I’ve been looking for surrogate fathers ever since. It’s pathetic and it probably creeps the hell out of you, but that’s the truth, I’m afraid.” 

“It’s not pathetic, and I don’t want to hear you say that again.” Steve gave Nik’s shoulders a slight shake, and Nik smiled inside, thinking that Steve was like a father to him because he could be firm but never unkind, and his sternness always came from a place of loving concern. “It doesn’t creep me out, either. Far from being creeped out, in fact, I’m honored that you’d think of me as a father figure.” 

“Really?” Nik cocked his head as he considered Steve’s words. “I was going to offer to do the best I could not to call you ‘Pappa’ again.” 

“Don’t bother.” Steve patted Nik on the back. “It touches me that you respect and trust me enough to refer to me as ‘Pappa.’” 

“Then I’m thankful for you, Pappa.” Nuzzling against Steve’s knee, Nik realized that perhaps the real meaning of Thanksgiving wasn’t stuffing yourself until you were fuller than the turkey, but rather feeling and expressing gratitude for the people close to you that you often took for granted. 

“I’m thankful for you too, Nik.” Steve combed the hair away from Nik’s forehead, his fingers brushing against the soft skin in a way that Nik had always found to be one of the most soothing sensations known to mankind. “Happy Thanksgiving without the gravy.” 

“Everything in life except the people we care about and who care about us is gravy,” whispered Nik into Steve’s knee. “Thanksgiving is a good holiday because it helps you recognize that. Long live Thanksgiving without the gravy.”


End file.
